


Yellowza & Purpleza's Excellent Adventure

by MKYouth



Series: crack but serioused (probably) [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Arson, Crack, Gen, Kidnapping, Landfill Fires, Not What It Looks Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, To Be Continued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKYouth/pseuds/MKYouth
Summary: “Is that a fucking furby?” Purpleza flicks away a very mushy piece of something Yellowza doesn’t want to identify off the back of his hand, crawling on his hands and knees like a fucking gremlin to another area of the massive trash mound and unearthing a beautiful baby boy from metaphorical womanhood it’s being birthed from, “Oh my god… he’s wonderful.”Yellowza purses his lips and squints his eyes: heavily grimacing at the image placed before him, his genuine best friend in the entire world cradling the rotting hide of a classic 1990’s - 2000 70-800 model black and white Hasbro Furby amidst the midnight atmosphere of a garbage dump, “Is he?”---Yellowza & Purpleza go on a little adventure
Relationships: Pinkza & Yellowza & Redza & Purpleza, Purpleza & Yellowza, Redza & Pinkza, Yellowza & Purpleza & Orangeza
Series: crack but serioused (probably) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035015
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	Yellowza & Purpleza's Excellent Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> this is an impulse post but I know what the next two chapters are going to be so it's ok ! [probably]

Yellowza did a lot of things for Purpleza.

  
  
It’d been like that for eternity, whenever Purpleza wanted to do this and that Yellowza was at his side. From molding fangs around his canines at 3AM following a shitty three minute long tutorial form 2012 with hot wax and equally hot gloves to coming along with him to some screamo band that made Yellow’s ears bleed and Purple’s peak up during the worst parts—he’d even helped him dress for some group gathering that one time [which Yellow insisted he’d remove the fangs for but Purple said that if Redza had a problem with it he’d meet him in the parking lot the next day]. The next few days after were triumphant for his friend to say the least. 

He’d had a list of events. Dumpster diving was not expected to ever be one on it, but here he was, knee deep in a literal fucking dump with a shitty little gas mask on and some insulating blue gloves. Not his color. 

“Is that a fucking furby?” Purpleza flicks away a very mushy piece of something Yellowza doesn’t want to identify off the back of his hand, crawling on his hands and knees like a fucking gremlin to another area of the massive trash mound and unearthing a beautiful baby boy from metaphorical womanhood it’s being birthed from, “Oh my god… he’s wonderful.”

Yellowza purses his lips and squints his eyes: heavily grimacing at the image placed before him, his genuine best friend in the entire world cradling the rotting hide of a classic 1990’s - 2000 70-800 model black and white Hasbro Furby amidst the midnight atmosphere of a garbage dump, “Is he?”

“We can home him to a new skin, Sunshine,” Purpleza stands up, his heels sinking into the trash mound as he adjusts his weight atop the garbage, “We can give him a new form of any kind… think of the possibilities…”

Yellowza would say they’re a little insane, a little batshit. As a treat to their normally usual personality, _emphasis on the usual_. They did these things with Purpleza for more of a reason than they’re just friends, of course. Things were fun! Even burning the tip of their thumb on molten plastic or bandaging his dear friend up after a parking lot fight against their middle school bully—it all added a certain flavor to life that he was entranced with, one that grabbed him at the neck and dragged him through experiences he’d never forget—and once he was in the mood to do something it was hell to get him out. That was how it went. 

_[You could get stories from all sorts of Za’s about their adventures together, but it was always the ones alone; whether that be Purple hissing at cops while actively being arrested or Yellow ordering a nice hot coffee from starbucks after being fired—pissing in the cup—and throwing it on the face of his boss. [[which he also got arrested for[[[and Pinkza yelled at him for an hour after bailing him out. He did it again a week later at his new hire.]]]_

This isn’t to say that Yellow wouldn’t enjoy ripping off the old flesh of a classic 1990’s - 2000 70-800 model black and white Hasbro Furby and playing god. No he’d love that. 

It’s just the trash is really harshing his vibe right now. 

Maybe that was one of the slight differences between them, Yellow would do anything as long as it didn’t get him too dirty—and Purple was fine to do anything as long as it didn’t kill him, but they both have skid that line before. Don’t ask them about how it went cleaning the house last august. [ask Orangeza.]

Purpleza flicks his tail back and forth as he stares directly into Yellowza’s soul, eyes slit down directly and when Yellowza comes out of thought he breaks out into the kind of cold sweat you only get when you make accidental eye contact with your mom. 

“Why are you making that face?” Oh fuck, Yellowza sees the thousand of possibilites to answer this singular question pass through his mind in seconds; he finds a singular proper answer, a 1 in 75 trillion chance to get this right. 

“Smelly.”

“Cool response bro. Wanna light this place on fire?” Purpleza unzips his backpack and shoves the Furby in. It makes a demented cry for help, _boh-bay boo._

Yellowza breathes a quiet sigh of relief, “ _That’s a crime._ ”

“That has never stopped us before,” He pulls out a matchbox from his bag, “Also it would be so cool and sexy and cool to record.”

“VPN?” Yellowza takes a massive step to delog himself from the garbage bussy, it makes a gross **schlop** noise and he knows he’ll be undressing before setting shit shitstorm ablaze. 

“Tiktok.”

“You’re crazy.” He stands on top of the pile and tries not to sink in.

Purpleza’s ears turn back and he raises a brow, “You’re the one enabling me.”

“Touché, Sagestrike.”

* * *

They throw their boots and gloves into the blazing fire and walk off arm in arm while the distant sounds of truck sirens blast somewhere not close enough.

The 40% [of landfill fires contributed to arson].

* * *

The colorza’s relationship could be described as that of the english family tree, meaning a fourth of it was pariatic—another parasocial, and at least half mutualistic—and wrapped up in that was some form of symbiotic or another. On days like these, the latter really shines through. When Yellowza is supposed to be paying for his half of the rent at Orangeza’s place he’s passed out across the couch of Purpleza’s shitty two room apartment with crusty painted nails, the unmistakable scent of bleach aurating off of his unconscious body, and his pants ripped at the knee—well, when someone wants to yell at him they know exactly where to go.

So that’s how it is when Purpleza wakes up to harsh banging on his front door only ten-ish feet away from where he lays sprawled out on the carpet of his floor with a milk jug on the coffee table, lemon demons spirit phone playing at a low volume from his stolen apple tv—and his head blearing pains that he thinks are illegal for any person to feel all while his arms are wrapped around skinned Furby robotics he knows he’s done something wrong.

He puts the Furby aside and army crawls to the couch where he death grips the side and sends his arm with force under his friends sleeping body and retrieves the remote as a man retrieves buried treasure from the catacombs of a pirates layer, sending it to the estimated direction of the TV and pausing the songs to kill god to playlist just to drop the remote right on the floor.

He takes a deep breath and raises his body on shaky knees; standing straight for one to two seconds before his body gives up and he goes falling onto Yellowza’s snoring form—who only screams in response to the impact and kicks his legs up.

Purpleza angles himself to look Yellowza in the eyes, pulling the rest of himself onto the couch and opting to suffocate Yellow by sitting on his chest; “Good morning Sunshine. I feel like shit.”

“Whadafuckisdanoise?” Yellowza says through squinted eyes, his hands darting around the space in front of him while trying to comprehend the dim purple led lights piercing his vision in his sleepy haze

“I think Blue or Blossom are going to beat our asses but it’s too early for me to comprehend and my head is pounding like a fucking brazzers video, do you want something to drink?”

Yellow lets his head fall back onto the pillow he’d been resting on and stares at the ceiling, “Give… give me 5 more minutes…”

“I’d love too but 5 more and the door might just break! I have a shelf of g-fuel waiting to be chugged so we can fever dream through this, so are you with me or not?” Purpleza leans off his chest, bringing them both edging closer and closer to falling off the side of the couch, Yellowza just blinks once or twice—pushing Purpleza off his chest and letting them both fall to the floor. 

“Poggies!” 

Purpleza disintegrates into nothingness as far as Yellowza is aware. The void of space he’d gone off into, the vast expanse of no return. His dreariness pulls him into the dark from behind, he feels himself fall past the layers of the shitty rented apartment, the carpet, the wood, the concrete of the ground, down below into the emptiness that occupies the Earth within—and then... He sees Purpleza come back to life within the corners of his vision, a cup of neon blue juice that cannot possibly be safe for human consumption. 

“Drink the nectar of life. . . my child,” Purpleza gently places a hand behind Yellow’s head, lifting him only centimeters of the ground to bring him to the perfect angle, tilting the cup at a certain degree and letting the fuel flow into his mouth as Asclepius let the blood of the Gorgon to heal the wounded and sick too far gone, “Feed… feed…”

Yellowza sips, floating up with each drink taken—“What is that?”

Purpleza raises a brow, “This sugary treat? G-fuel. I told you this—if you _listened_ you’d know that—“

“That’s not **fucking** g-fuel, Orange has ten empty cans in his room at all times I KNOW what g-fuel tastes like—this _isn’t_ it.” Yellowza let’s his tire crack and fall off his body with little mental issue after the non carbonated electrolight high drink entered his body and the opinionated gamer mind took over—side effect—he grabs at the front of Purpleza’s slightly tinged shirt and pulls him in—pushing their foreheads together, “What are you hiding, catboy?”

Purpleza shrugs, “May or may not have melted down a few boxes of xbox brand cotton candy into bootleg g-fuel, what's it to you?”

They sit there for a moment. 

“You’re a genius.” Yellowza sighs, breathlessly.

“I’m not selling!” Purpleza pushes Yellow away, standing up and leaning on his heels—“Now get up and take care of that knock before my head explodes like goddamn L’manburg.”

“Oh right you’re in pain. Sure.” Yellowza rises like Christ on the third night and hobbles himself in a little queer jig with each step to the door—much like the son himself—the knocking only getting louder and louder with the passing seconds. 

Unlike Purpleza, Yellow was not met with the pain of recurring migraines each passing day; which meant after every terribly foolish incident they pulled and found themselves in, the initial wrath they’d face from—really—an assortment of their friends was put upon Yellowza to face first. Another part of Yellow’s dedication to this crazy friendship, taking the blunt end of the stick when it was needed the most.

_[No worries, Purple would return the favor tenfold. Like the time Purpleza attributed his first knife fight in defense of Yellow to all the times he’d paid for a meal of chick-fil-a delivered—even extending to stripping for Yellow just to move the center of attention at a party off his friend and onto him, the humiliation was something he was willing to face, for friendship, If they weren’t such fools it would be beautiful.]_

He plants his feed at the door, knocking harsh three times back; and opening the door, “Hello Pi—“

“ _Y_ ELLow, you— _oh_ ,” Pinkza pushes past Yellowza and leans back against the wall; a look of exasperation and worry filling the gaze Yellow is given. 

“WHAT THE **FUCK** DID YOU _DO_?!?”

In dark there is light, in hate there is love—and when there’s a Pinkza there's a Redza not too far behind. 

“Hello Redza!”

In another world Redza would tackle Yellowza in the doorway and start biting at him like a rabid dog: and the day of November 14th would repeat once Purpleza stumbled into the scene and saw. Unfortunately this isn’t that universe. Redza stands past the shadow of Pink, fuming in the doorway—hair a bit more messy than usual and an outfit a lot more lackluster—and yet Yellow still feels somewhat inferior in his couch clothing. He scrunches his brows and sticks his chest out; he’s sexy as hell, and no overmasculine dickhead will outdo him. 

“You’re **SUCH** a fucking idiot you made it onto the fucking news—do you even know what you did??” Redza’s fingers twitch all the while he holds them up in a vaguely threatening way, expression wears pissed; but Yellow wouldn’t say he hadn’t faced it before.

He flashes an ok sign and pops his lips, “No I do not.”

Pinkza holds his hat scrunched up in his hand as he runs his free hand through his hair, leaning against the wall like his life depended on it: “You committed a federal crime.”

“And..?”

“ _AND?! FUCKING AND?!_ ”

Yellow nods his head, “Yuh.”

“Sweetheart, landfill fires do a lot; particularly, set off… plenty of lethal and toxic gasses into the atmosphere.” Pink pulls his hat onto his head, taking a step forward and taking Yellow’s palm in his own, “Meaning the crime you committed has severity levels, it can lead you to 12 years in prison.”

Yellow nods. _There is not a thing going on behind those eyes, sweet boy._

“Sunshine,” Purpleza yells out across the room, “What did I tell you about speaking without a lawyer?”

Yellowza turns and takes in the image of Purpleza shuffling his feet across the—frankly—disgusting carpet, an empty cup of the blue liquid in hand, “Remember Grey’s stunt of 1997.”

“Exactly,” He leans against the back of one of the mismatched sofas, “Alright, what's this about a landfill fire?”

“You literally just _confessed_ do you think we’re that fucking dumb?!”—Yellow nods his head this way and that, simply shrugging and leaning back with a whistle. Red starts furiously tapping his foot on the floor. 

Purpleza pulls out a piece of long, tangled plastic from his hair; “Really? I don’t remember that.”

“Oh my god,” Redza pulls on fistfulls of his own hair—Pink pats him on the back, clapping his hands together as he takes another side-step in front of the other; he takes a deep breath, “Listen Sagestrike—Sunflower—we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I take it you tell us everything now or…”

“You dont scare me you fungal piece of shit.” Purpleza throws down the empty, plastic cup to the ground—whats was little left inside splattering on the floor as the cup rolls around at all fours feet.

Pink sighs, “The hard way then.”—and promptly pulls out a glock. 

* * *

Yellowza strains against the knotted ribbon around his wrists as he’s pushed down right onto the hardwood floor of Purplezas shitty, shitty kitchen. His catboy sits next to him, brows turned down and a scowl on his face; “We’re not telling you shit.”

“Calm down Sagestrike. I won't tell.” Pink leans against yet another astray sofa, “I just need to know.”

“ _I’m taking this to my grave!_ ”—and he spits at Pink’s feet. 

Pinks slips off a loafer—taking his hat off his head and fluffing it out before reaching in; pulling out a small, pink themed lighter, “Please, sweetheart, play nice or I won’t have too.”

Yellow looks around the room—expression akin to that of a twitter stan when boobies cross their pg-13 timeline, the words spelled out across his face; _HELLO???_

“ARE YOU GOING TO FUCKING SET US ON FIRE?!”—he kicks his legs up at Pink, “I knew you went to boot camp for _The Incident of ‘08_ but I didn’t know you were fucking batshit—”

“What? No, I would never hurt you,” Pink flashes the flame, reflecting light in his eyes—his smile falling to something like relax, “Red?”

Like the horde of a killer queen on the brink of war, Redza emerges from the singular other room in this sad little apartment with two black, cylinder like objects carved with incredible detail and studded with spikes—held in both his hands—and Purpleza, not unlike the soldiers watching beasts tumble and dash towards them, counting down the time to their doom; feels horror blanket him—Yellow in his similar gaze freezing up in terror. 

“That’s right, your _demonias_!” Redza throws the pair on the floor in front of the two, Yellow squirms to reach but Red gives him a glare and out of pure totally not fear he falls back.

“You wouldn’t dare…” He mutters, looking between the shoes and Purple. 

“Shut up Pissza this is our domain,” Red cracks his knuckles, “They’re just shoes anywa—”

“JUST SHOES?! RE—”

“Boys.” Pinkza gives them the _quiet coyote,_ “No arguing now we’re past that.”

Purple snickers; “Ok ok… that little lighter isn't gonna do shit against my shows anyway.”

“This will—” and from behind Pink’s back emerges a can of gasoline.

The color within the complementary on the floor completely drains from their faces; bodies; souls; you'd call it bw cell shading. 

“What do you want to know?”

Pink smiles, “Everything.”

* * *

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Orangeza stands over two tied up dumbasses laying at his feel—having fallen out of the backseat of the hot pink 1963 Volkswagen Beetle in classic clown fashion and right onto the pavement of his driveway right when he sat down to read a book in his study. Never once has the light beep of an old fashioned car filled him with such dread, “I can’t believe you two.”

Pinkza claps his hands together in a more light hearted tone, this time around; pulling open the front seat of his car and jumping in—”Oh well, you’d oughta believe them now.”

“Pin—”

“Toodaloo!” Pink shuts the door, turning key to start all the while Redza sits in the accompanying seat with a little red lollipop in hand. [Yellowza will forever hold onto the memory of Pink taking one out of the drivers compartment and dropping it in his hand like a Kindergarten teacher to a troubled student on best behavior, if his hands were not tied by the wrist behind his back he’d have wiggled out his phone and snapped a picture or two—but god has served punishment today and he’d forever live with that memory. Pink was a cruel motherfucker.]

Orange looks down at the two at his feet and ignores the light sway of Purpleza’s tail, he sighs, bending down and grabbing at their cuffs, “You’re dead to me.”

“I wuv you too.” Purple strains through a cloth gag.

“I’m keeping that on you,” He pulls at the tie around Yellows head, “What did you do?”

Yellow smacks his lips once the pink handkerchief leaves his mouth, scraping at his mouth with his teeth, “Blegh, what we did?”

“Yes, what you did.”

Yellow looks for a nod of approval from Purple who only rolls his eyes and nods his head, they’ve been here before. 

“Ah well,” Yellow rubs at his freed wrists, “Fortunately, we aren’t in prison from lighting a landfill on fire! Unfortunately, Pinkza decided to teach us a bit of a lesson.”

Orange stills his work on the cuffs; “You what.”

He slowly turns his gaze to Yellowza, the movement not unlike something you’d see on creepypasta forms at the ripe age of 12—the similar fear of an impressionable child consuming horror content on their own for the first time grasps itself around Yellowza’s core—the sight of his roomates stare burning itself into the back of his irises. He weakly smiles, feeling like the cotton was right back in his mouth, “Arson… smile.”

He returns to his work with pinched brows, “One of these days you guys are going to go to jail and Pink won’t be as kind to bail you out.”

“Orange, you’re like a brother to me—you’re just gonna leave me like that?” Yellow stands from the floor, pulling at the bottom of his boxy tee, “I’d thought we’d where fam.”

Orangeza nods his head back and forth, “Well you have to have the family betrayal arc at some point considering you’re so adamant at living the life of a protagonist.”

Purpleza coos an _‘oooooo’_ , going through the efforts to even raise his newly freed hands to the front of his face and cover his mouth like a child on the playground. Yellow rolls his eyes reaches for the knot tied around back of Purples head, making use of the gag still on and yanking it back—sending Purpleza off his rhythm and into a shock, head spinning like a hot wheel fallen off tract and balance that of a cat past its prime. 

“You’re not exempt, catboy,” and Orange stands with the two and makes a walk to their shared townhome, “I wasn’t expecting you home so early Fletcher.”

“Well I wasn’t expecting Pink to force me into the back of his Volkswagen but things happen.”

“I was going to leave after my read, home depot; but you’re on my hands…” Orange crosses his arms, “Hmh… I guess it can wait… Pink looked about ready to kick your ass more than it already has and I don’t know if I trust you in a public space enough yet.”

Purple peaks up from the ground—gag sat around his neck, “WE NEED A SPINE!”

  
  
Orange coughs on their own spit, taking a few moments to recover from the full body shock—”A spine?”

“ _FURBY!_ ”

“Oh my god he's right; qe stole a furby from a landfill and we're gonna remodel,” Yellow reaches out a hand to Purple, they take it, “We talked about it on the walk home—did we talk about it on the walk home?”

“We did sunshine, you have a great memory. We’re going to create a son.” Purpleza does a :3c

Orange grimaces, “I was… ok. I can take you, I don’t know about spines…”

“Spine, spine, spi—”

“Enough, get in the car.” Orange clicks around for keys in their pocket, cutting off the two chanting boys, “Do you have any other clothes?”

They stand in demonias and pajamas; Purple nods no.

“Alright. Ok. Christ.”

**Author's Note:**

> greyza next chapter 
> 
> [carrd](https://mky.carrd.co/#)
> 
> [read this fic [it's ALSO about the colorzas!]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544186)
> 
> Only 1% of my readers end up leaving a kudos. So, if you enjoyed this fic leave a kudos and maybe even a comment. If you really like this work consider checking out my profile and reading other works of mine! You can even subscribe to my AO3 profile, it's free and notifies you about when I update a work or post one-sending a notif straight to your email! If you end up not liking the feature you can always unsubscribe later.


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